“I don’t believe there is anything good in the flunkey line that money won’t buy.  I have always found I could have anything I wanted, if I saw fit to pay its price.  Money, no matter what simpletons preach, money, my dear, is”——­

“Why, Lucy, what is the matter?” exclaimed Miss Millicent, with some surprise and anxiety, as she saw the girl, who had just entered, instead of advancing, awkwardly shrink on one side into a chair behind the door, with a shudder, as if she had trod on a reptile.  The next moment she was at her side, earnestly whispering something in her ear, evidently an explanation of the circumstances of the case, to which Lucy had hitherto been an entire stranger.

“Pray, excuse me, Ma’am,” was the girl’s scarce audible response to some request.

“It is only to write your name, Lucy.”

“Not to such a paper, for the world!”

“Not to oblige me?”

“I would do anything, Ma’am, to oblige you, but that would not.  Never! never!” said the excited girl, catching another glimpse of Chip, who was now looking obliquely at the whispering couple, and drumming with his fingers on the rosewood of that part of the letter S from which his intended had just risen, as if he were hurriedly beating a reveille to rally his faltering impudence.  “No, Ma’am;—­it is too bad, it is too bad, it is too”——­Here her utterance became choked, her cheeks pallid as death, and her form wilted and fell like a flower before the mower’s scythe.  Millicent prevented the fall, while Sterling rang for water, and Chip, peering about with more agitation than any one else, finally remarked,—­

“The girl must be sick;—­better take her out.”

The young lawyer, with the aid of a servant, did bear her to another apartment, where, after the usual time and restoratives, she recovered her consciousness, and the maiden blood again revealed tints that the queen of flowers might envy.  Chip and the millionnaire remained in the parlor, while the others were taking care of the proposed witness, and great was the anxiety of the former that their absence should not be prolonged.  Suddenly he recollected a forgotten engagement of great importance, pulled out his watch, fidgeted, suggested that the lawyer and Miss Millicent should be recalled, that the papers might be signed before he went.  Mr. Hopkins was of that opinion, and sent a servant to call them.  Miss Millicent came, but could not think of completing the contract without the signature of her favorite domestic.  Argument enough was ready, but she was fortified by a sentiment that was more than a match for it.  Mr. Hopkins was all ready, and would have the matter closed as soon as the lawyer arrived, affirming that his daughter would have too much sense, at last, to stand out on such a trifle.

In the mean time, the supposed Miss Lucy having had time to collect her scattered senses, there occurred the following dialogue between her and Frank Sterling, whose curiosity, not to speak of any other interest, had been thoroughly roused by the strange patient for whom he had just been acting in a medical, rather than legal capacity.